


I'll Send You My Words

by ForeverShippingJohnlock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Epistolary, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Get Together, Hurt/Comfort, Letters, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 13:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14285706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverShippingJohnlock/pseuds/ForeverShippingJohnlock
Summary: When Remus bans the Marauders from accompanying him on the full moon, Sirius finds a loophole and reveals more than Remus could have ever expected.





	I'll Send You My Words

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!! I'm extremely excited (and nervous lol) to share with you my first ever wolfstar fic! I've been puttering away at it the past couple months, and it's finally finished!! I really hope you enjoy it <3

 

 

> So I’ll send you my words
> 
> From the corners of my room
> 
> And though I write them by the light of day
> 
> Please read them by the light of the moon
> 
>  
> 
> — “Words”, Gregory Alan Isakov

* * *

Remus Lupin doesn’t particularly pride himself on the fact that he’s become an unwitting expert in all things Sirius Black. He’d love to chalk it up to the excuse that quieter people just notice things more, but really, he couldn’t even have told you what he had for breakfast that morning if Sirius had been beside him, the height of distraction with every light brush of his arm. He’s spent the past five years cataloguing all the little scraps of knowledge he’s managed to glean—how Sirius takes his coffee (black, and Remus still doesn’t know if it’s because he likes the taste or purely just for the irony of it), how long his morning bathroom routine takes (an hour, five minutes for the shower and the rest of the time for his hair), etcetera.

So, due to his mostly useless encyclopedic knowledge, it doesn’t take Remus long to catch onto the fact that Sirius is being weird.

And not his normal brand of weird, either. This is something quieter, almost muted—two descriptions that were typically the very antithesis of Sirius Black. An effort is clearly being made to put on his usual front—boisterous and untouchable—but it rings hollow. His smiles feel a little false somehow, never quite reaching his grey eyes. This alone wouldn’t have been cause for too much alarm; Remus had seen him act that way before after one too many nightmares of Black family rings colliding with skin and cold eyes in a sharp angular face, and although it was incomprehensibly painful for Remus to see, Sirius always bounced back fairly quickly. This, however, was lasting longer than usual, with the addition of an unexpected caginess.

For as long as Remus had known him, Sirius had always been a very physical person. He was never one to shy away from touch, always quick to wrestle with James or give a particularly merciless noogie to Peter. His relationship with Remus had never been one to include rough-housing—it just wasn’t really them—but hair ruffling and arms casually slung over shoulders were a very common occurrence.

When that suddenly stops, Remus is entirely thrown by it. Suddenly, the extra space between them is all he can notice. Over the next few days, he casually tries his hand at rectifying this—a jovial punch here, a shoulder nudge there—but Sirius always manages to avoid it, much to Remus’ embarrassment.

He lies in bed that night to the soft snores of the boys in the surrounding four-posters, one arm behind his head and the other settled comfortably on his stomach. He’s wide awake despite the early morning hour, his overactive brain not allowing him a moment’s rest. Had he done something to upset Sirius? But then, Sirius was never one to hold anything in; if he was pissed at you, he let you know it. Remus tries instead to trace the odd behavior back to when it started, to see if that would give him any hints. As he lies there, thinking, his hand absentmindedly moves across his stomach and his fingers brush the ridge of a raised scar from the most recent full moon. As soon as Remus makes contact with it, the timeline slots into place and he feels ill.

Sirius had started acting weird the day after the full moon.

The realization knocks the air out of Remus’ lungs, leaving him breathless with panic and hurt. The other Marauders had known about his “furry little problem”—their words, not his—for years, but they had only recently succeeded in their painstaking efforts to become Animagi. This meant that the last full moon marked the first time in his entire life that Remus hadn’t been alone for the transformation. Although he’d had his reservations at first—it was still illegal, after all—Remus couldn’t pretend he wasn’t eternally grateful to have people he cared about with him when he needed them most of all.

The mere thought of losing that solace so soon after he’d gained it feels like a swift punch to the gut. For a moment, Remus feels resentful towards his friends; if they didn’t think they could handle it, they should have never gotten his hopes up. Much as Remus tries to hold onto the somewhat easier emotion of anger, it quickly fades away, replaced by a quiet despair.

He should have seen this coming, Remus thinks. When he’d miraculously been given the chance to attend Hogwarts despite his condition, he’d already made up his mind to ease into the background of the goings-on, never drawing attention, keeping himself to himself. And if he had to spend the next seven years friendless… Well. It wouldn’t have been any different than the previous eleven had been.

But then fate chose to throw back its almighty head and laugh wholeheartedly at his expense by placing him in a dorm room with one James Fleamont Potter.

Try as he might, Remus had been no match for James’ eager persistence, which wasn’t nearly as charming as he seemed to think it was. Remus had presented a challenge, an egg unwilling to crack, and James was nothing if not competitive. And once Sirius joined the fray with his easy smiles and cocksure attitude, followed by Peter’s comforting quiescence, Remus was lost.

Looking back on it now, Remus almost wishes it all had never been, anything to keep him from feeling the stinging pain of this inevitable rejection. He feels pinpricks of tears forming behind his weary eyes before quickly blinking them away, rolling over and eventually dropping off into a very uneasy and fitful sleep.

* * *

“Capital, lads! Absolutely _capital!_ ” James crows as the Marauders burst into their dormitory.

“Did you see the look on Snivellus’ face? Maybe this’ll teach him to shower every once and a while, the greasy git,” Sirius laughs, collapsing back onto his bed.

“I thought McGonagall was gonna have our hides,” Peter titters, traces of adrenaline still present in his voice from their most recent—and indisputably successful—prank. To wit, filling the entire Slytherin common room with large and unburstable soap bubbles of a rather alarming shade of pink.

Sirius leans forward a bit, balancing his weight on his elbows. “Nah, she knows she has nothing on us. Besides, Minnie and I have a _connection_ ,” he says, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

James laughs and aims a pillow at Sirius’ head. “Yeah, a connection as in her foot up your arse.”

Sirius gasps, mock affronted. “You dare to doubt our love?”

“I think he’s doubting your _sanity_ , mate,” Peter rejoins with a grin.

Sirius collapses back against the bed again, hand over his heart, ever the dramatic. “I’m wounded! Moony, remember me fondly.”

Remus sits quietly on his own four-poster, picking idly at his thumbnail. He doesn’t realize he’s being spoken to until Sirius repeats his nickname.

“Moony?” he prompts.

Remus looks up, startled out of his daze. “Hm? Oh. Sorry. What were you saying?”

Sirius’ grey eyes are searching and concerned, and Remus quickly averts his gaze as his cheeks flame at the intensity.

“You alright, Rem? You’ve been acting a bit odd lately,” James says.

Remus looks up again to find all three boys staring at him and he feels himself begin to crumble under the combined pressure.

“I could say the same about you lot,” Remus murmurs, his voice coming out icier than he’d strictly intended.

It had been a few days since his plummeting realization, and he’d grown distant in a feeble attempt to prepare himself for what he assumes is coming, for an ending he’s not quite ready to accept. Now that the situation presents itself, however, he just wants them to put him out of his misery. He wants it over with.

“What do you mean?” James asks uncertainly, and Remus watches with rising indignation as the other Marauders share anxious knowing glances.

“I mean that! Right there!” Remus replies, flapping his arms unhelpfully in their general directions, “All the looks and the secret I’m clearly not privy to. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Sirius laughs a little, but it’s a hollow and unsuccessful attempt at levity. “Moons, what are you on about? We’ve barely left you alone, no man left behind and all that.”

Remus levels a steady stare at Sirius, whose smile falters. “That’s not what I mean, Padfoot.”

The nickname comes out unintentionally, and it sits in the air awkwardly, surrounded as it is by his own thinly veiled anger and hurt. Remus wishes he could snatch it back, thinking the two seemingly innocuous syllables too telling, worried that he’s shown his hand. He refuses to backtrack or elaborate, feeling humiliated enough already, but from the way Sirius deflates, he knows exactly what Remus is talking about. Remus takes a deep breath, knowing there’s no way out of this but through, and plunders on.

“The full moon… I understand if you can’t handle it. Seeing me like that. But you need to tell me now,” Remus stutters out, losing his usual eloquent articulation in his whirlwind of emotions.

Remus watches the expressions of the other Marauders fall like dominoes in a rapid succession that would have been comical in any other situation. James is shocked, Peter looks vaguely uncomfortable, and the pain on Sirius’ face is so evident that Remus finds it difficult to look at, but he forces himself not to shy away from it.

“Merlin, Remus… Is that what you think?” Sirius asks, quietly horrified.

“Am I wrong?” Remus snaps in reply.

Sirius huffs a small, humorless laugh, suddenly looking twice his age. “Yeah, you are. For once in your bloody life.”

“Then what…?” Remus asks, trailing off.

This isn’t what he’d been expecting and he’s utterly thrown by it. He watches as James and Peter turn to regard Sirius, who looks contemplating. It’s then that Remus’ mind switches gears to another possible cause of the awkwardness, and in that moment, he genuinely couldn’t have told you which one he thought was worse.

For longer than Remus cared to admit, his ridiculous crush on Sirius had been barreling towards a terrifying and all-consuming four-letter precipice. He thought he’d been so _careful._ He never allows himself the luxury of even the most covert appreciative gazes, never allows a touch to linger too long in his unwillingness for it to end, never allows his tongue to trip out the confessions he’s been desperately wanting to make since third year. The thought that Sirius could see through all that self-denial—that Remus made himself vulnerable enough for it to _be_ seen—sends his head spinning anew.

James is the one to break the tense silence. “Just tell him, mate,” he says to Sirius with a solemnity rarely seen.

Sirius sighs, heavy and reluctant. This is it, Remus thinks. This is how his whole world is going to come crashing down around him and it will be entirely out of his control, like so many other things in his life. He just sits there, powerless and miserable, awaiting his fate.

So, he’s understandably confused when Sirius opts instead for silence, and much to Remus’ bewilderment, begins to unbutton his shirt. Remus can feel his face heat immediately as he hastily looks away. His gaze wanders back, however, curiosity outweighing self-preservation in that moment.

As Sirius slips the shirt off one shoulder, Remus only has a moment to appreciate a well-sculpted collar bone, before his eyes land on the bandages wrapped around Sirius’ entire upper arm. Remus can just make out the vague shape of the injury from where it had managed to bleed through the wrapping, despite its many thick layers of gauze.

The pieces are slowly starting to come together in Remus’ mind, but there still seems to be so much missing. This explains the lack of physical contact, but why hadn’t anyone just told him? It’s not like he’s a stranger to his friends getting hurt—Remus has lost track of how many broken bones James had received from Quidditch. And it doesn’t explain why the Marauders look so guilty, all of them avoiding eye contact with him.

“What happened?” Remus asks, all concern.

Sirius opens his mouth to say something, but evidently thinks better of it and closes it again, biting his lip a little. In any other situation, this sight would have driven Remus to blushing distraction, but now, the uncharacteristic indecision makes Remus’ stomach drop as the last piece of the puzzle snaps into place.

“When did you get this,” Remus asks, the sudden hardness in his voice making the question sound like a statement, the command for information that it is.

“Moony, it—”

“ _When,_ Sirius.”

But he knows. Of course he knows. He just needs to hear it, needs it to be real.

“Full moon,” Sirius mutters, sounding sad and resigned.

Remus is standing in a heartbeat. He makes his way over to Sirius’ bed and sits beside him. He reaches out with unsteady hands and begins to untie the bandage. Sirius grabs his wrist.

“Remus, don’t. It’s not that bad,” he says.

“I’ll see for myself,” Remus replies. He continues to undo the gauze and Sirius lets him, knowing he has no other choice.

Then the last layer is removed and Remus lets out a shuddery breath, overwhelmed with the waves of guilt and self-hatred washing over him like an unruly tide. The cut is long and deep, the jagged edges looking worriedly pink and sore. Remus brings a shaky hand to his mouth, unable to tear his eyes away.

“I did that,” he breathes. He’s not sure if it’s a question, especially when he already knows the answer. Sirius hastily begins to re-dress his wound, hiding it from Remus’ view as fast as possible.

“Pomfrey?” Remus asks, feeling numb and barely capable of speech. Luckily, Sirius gleans his meaning and shakes his head.

“Would’ve been too suspicious. Couldn’t risk it,” Sirius explains.

“We’ve been using healing charms the best we can,” James chimes in, “But it takes longer when it’s—erm—”

“Inflicted by a dark creature,” Remus finishes for him hollowly. James just nods a little, looking ashamed of himself for bringing it up. Remus can’t begrudge him the truth, though.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sirius states, determined.

His shirt is still hanging open, and it’s not _fair_ , Remus can’t help but think. It’s not fair that when he looks at that skin, he has visions of open-mouthed kisses and exploratory caresses too soon interrupted by waking nightmares of how that same tantalizing expanse is just another place he could hurt and mar with bloodied claws.

But Remus is used to unfair.

Sirius continues on, despite Remus’ mirthless almost-laugh at his words. “It was me. I should have practiced more. I—I lost my focus on maintaining my dog form and shifted back. It was only for a second.”

“And a second was all it took. Tell me, what if it had been ten seconds? Thirty?” Remus asks, his voice quiet and cold. He looks at the boy in front of him and chides himself for his own stupidity—Sirius is every bit as unreachable as the bright star of his namesake. He deserves so much more than a monster.

“But it _wasn’t._ I’ll do better, I promise. It won’t be like that next time,” Sirius replies, but Remus is already shaking his head.

“There won’t be a next time.”

Sirius blinks. “What?”

Remus tries to keep his voice as level and as steady as possible, already steeling himself for the inevitable argument. “I mean it. You’re not coming with me again. Any of you.”

James perks up at that, his brows drawing together in concern. “But you said yourself that it helps, that it makes things easier.”

Remus shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Those three words seem to unlock something in Sirius, who suddenly stands and begins to pace, running a hand roughly through his already unkempt hair. His voice begins to rise in both volume and anger. “Maybe not to you, but it matters to m—to us!”

Remus doesn’t miss the near slip, but mentally shrugs it off, not wanting to read too much into it. Sirius often speaks without thinking, and Remus has learned not to look for things that he knows just aren’t there.

“I can’t let you take that risk,” Remus replies evenly, trying not to rise to the bait of Sirius’ ire.

“And who says that’s your decision to make?” Sirius demands, wheeling around to glare at Remus.

Remus stands too, then, and glares right back, his temper flaring dangerously at the words. There isn’t a lot in this world that he can control, but trying to keep his friends safe in the only way he knows how is one of them. And he won’t let anyone take this small measure of said control away from him, not even Sirius Black.

“It’s more my decision than anyone else’s,” he replies.

The two stare at each other in a silent stand-off, and the tension of it lays heavy and palpable in the suddenly too-small dormitory.

Then, “He’s got a point.”

The other Marauders turn to look at Peter, surprised to hear him speak when the boy hated all manner of confrontation, especially between his friends. Peter tended to fumble through his words a lot of the time, but on rare occasions such as these, also possessed the uncanny ability to know exactly what to say and when to say it.

Remus looks at Peter, oddly touched, and smiles when he doesn’t look away. Peter returns the smile shyly and Remus feels a tremendous amount of respect for him in that moment. Especially the way he stands his ground when Sirius’ gaze turns thunderous with a look that would wither a lesser man.

Luckily, though, the stormy expression is soon directed at James. “Pete’s right. I don’t like it any more than you do, Padfoot, but if Rem doesn’t want us there…” James sighs, before nodding slightly, as if to convince himself of the words he’s about to say. “We have to respect that.”

“Like hell we do!” Sirius cries, sounding a bit betrayed by his best friend, perhaps assuming James would have his back in this as he does for so many things. Sirius rounds on Remus again. “So, what, you’re just going to go back to tearing yourself apart once a month? Is that it?”

“If that’s what it takes. I’ve been doing this alone almost my entire life, Sirius. I can take care of myself.”

“But you don’t have to, now! Don’t you get it?”

There’s a desperate edge to Sirius’ voice, and it’s then that Remus knows his anger derives from the feeling of utter helplessness. Remus assumes that it’s most likely brotherly protectiveness, left over from all those years of trying to shield Regulus from his parents’ cruel ways. Regardless, it makes his heart ache to see his best friend like this, but it feels warm knowing someone cares so much about him, even if it’s not in the way he wants. He knows he can’t back down, though. This is far too important, and he needs to make sure that Sirius understands that.

“I can’t let this happen again. You need to promise me that you’ll stay away on the next full moon.” He directs this to all the Marauders, but mostly to Sirius.

“I can’t just—“ he begins, but Remus doesn’t let him finish the thought.

“Yes, you can. Please.”

His voice cracks a little on the last word under the tremendous strain of emotion and he mentally curses himself for the weakness. But it seems to do the trick; Sirius stands still and stares at him for a moment too long, considering. Remus holds his breath and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long before Sirius visibly deflates.

“Fine,” he bites out. He has the look of a man who’s been defeated, and is very resentful for being so.

Remus wants to reach out, to say something—anything—but Sirius is already stalking out of the room, angrily buttoning his shirt as he goes.

And with Sirius’ sudden departure, so too goes Remus’ energy, all fight leaving him in one fell swoop. He collapses backwards with a sigh, sitting heavily on the nearest bed and letting his head fall into his hands.

“We’ll talk to him. It’ll be alright, Moony,” James says, and Remus really wants to believe him.

Remus looks up and nods sadly, speech proving to be more effort than he’s currently capable of. Peter walks over and places a sturdy hand on his shoulder for a moment before pulling away. He and James trade a look and a nod, and the two silently follow Sirius’ path out the door.

So, with only his cacophonous thoughts for company, Remus is left alone—a fact which he is both grateful for and saddened by in equal measure.

* * *

A week later finds Remus walking across Hogwarts’ grounds, alone. It’s a trek he’s made countless times over the years, but it’s never felt as lonely as it does right now. He walks slowly, feet dragging reluctantly across the grass with each step. The night air is still and cold; Remus wraps his scarf a little tighter around his neck to combat it. The grounds are varying shades of dark and pale, the pearlescent light of the moon alternating between eerie illumination and casting thick shadows.

As he walks, Remus can’t help but look up. The moon stares back. The sight of it makes his skin itch, like his body is begging him to surrender to something primal and uncontrolled. Soon enough, Remus thinks, when it reaches the peak of its slow and torturous ascent, he won’t have a choice in the matter.

The Whomping Willow looms in the distance, branches twitching threateningly as he comes nearer. He searches around its perimeter for stones and picks up three of similar size. After taking a minute to aim, he hits the knot on the second try and the tree freezes.

Remus sighs and begins the walk down the narrow dirt pathway beneath the bruising foliage. His heart aches at the sound of his echoing movements in the empty tunnel. Last time, this was where the other boys would distract him with their inane excitable chatter, managing to pull smiles from his worried, haggard face. The transformation would always be incomprehensibly awful, but their company made it seem less so. Remus misses that.

As he ascends the creaky, aging staircase up to the Shack, Remus knows that the wolf will miss its pack; he also accepts with grim resignation that the wolf will undoubtedly take out its frustrations on himself, the only choice in such isolation.

The ancient house moans pityingly at every movement, as if in danger of collapsing with the next step. The wind has picked up slightly, and the room fills with a light whistling as the gale blows through gaping holes in the decrepit walls. The moonlight manages to filter in through these same holes and Remus shivers, not entirely from the chill.

He can tell he doesn’t have long now. With a heavy sigh, he begins to undress despite the pervading cold. He shoves his discarded clothes under the bed, knowing nothing left in the open is safe from the wolf’s mindless destruction. Remus sits on the edge of the bed, his hands twisting together anxiously in front of him, awaiting the inevitable. His skin begins to crawl warningly, and his muscles tighten. Remus looks around the haphazard room, utterly aching with loneliness as he regards the spaces an unlikely animal trio should now be filling. But as his gaze wanders further, and he takes in the familiar sight of furniture smashed beyond recognition and the ripped fabric that’s either shredded bedclothes or remnants of curtains, he tries to remind himself of the unavoidable fact. Nothing is safe.

Nothing and no one.

He repeats the words in his head over and over again like a mantra, trying to comfort himself with the reminder that there is a reason he’s doing this, a reason he’s alone, _so alone._ The mantra continues to rebound off the walls of his mind, until his bones start to break and his organs begin to rearrange and his screams turn to howls.

The mantra is his last conscious thought before the wolf takes over.

* * *

Remus awakes to an incessant tapping noise. He attempts to ignore it at first, wanting to sleep for no less than a thousand literal years, but groans in frustration as the tapping grows steadily louder and more insistent. He regrets this action almost immediately—even his own tickling exhales pain his howl-ravaged throat. He slowly cracks open his eyes and turns his head towards the direction of the noise.

Pale blue light filters into the room through the window, signaling dawn’s approach, but that’s not what catches Remus’ attention. What does, however, is the long-eared owl perched on the window sill. Its beak taps rhythmically on the glass and Remus can see a piece of parchment attached to its leg. He can only look at it blankly for a moment, pure exhaustion rendering him stupid, before he begins the daunting task of sitting up.

He winces almost immediately and hisses out a sharp breath. Remus surveys the damage, warily exploring with tentative fingers. He counts three—possibly four—broken ribs, the most noticeable of the various pains. His ankle looks swollen and a bit twisted, but the dull ache is not excruciating—sprained surely, but evidently not fractured. The rest is all the typical cuts and bruises he’s come to expect, and none appear too worrisome. Having finished his cursory inspection, Remus counts himself lucky, knowing that to the wolf, this is taking it easy. He breathes a small sigh of relief; he’d been expecting so much worse from the bloodthirsty creature that shares his skin.

On the other side of the window pane, the owl hoots and ruffles its feathers in an indignant fashion, looking to be a clear sign of _I don’t have all day, you know._

Remus gingerly gets to his feet, knowing full well that Madam Pomfrey will chastise him for even thinking of moving before she got there. But, his curiosity now well and truly peaked, he slowly limps his way over to the window. It takes a minute to pry it open, flakes of old paint flying off at the sudden action, but he manages.

The owl hops forward and sticks out its leg for Remus to retrieve the parchment, which he does. The bird cocks its head at him rather expectantly, probably waiting for a tip in the form of food scraps, and Remus offers an apologetic shrug at having none. The owl hoots once and flies off, leaving Remus alone, letter in hand. He trudges over to where his clothes lie and grabs them, wrapping himself up in his robes before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Remus regards the letter, his brow furrowed, wondering if perhaps the owl had delivered to the wrong recipient. With fingers shaking from equal parts cold and leftover adrenaline from the change, he opens the parchment and, after letting his weary eyes adjust to the dim light, starts to read.

 _Dear Moony,_ the letter begins and Remus lets out a surprised breath to find Sirius’ looping, elegant scrawl. He tries not to race through it, forcing himself to read slowly and take in every word.

_By the time you read this, you’ll be you again. I want to ask if you’re okay, but that’s a really stupid question, isn’t it? I hope you are, though._

_It’s the not knowing, I think. That’s the hardest bit. I mean, it was hard before_ — _when we knew about you, but also knew there was nothing we could do. But now it’s worse because I know I could help, but you won’t let me. It’s been driving me up the wall, and it’s probably why I’ve been such an asshole all week. I’m sorry about that. _

_I went back and forth so many times on whether to just say “fuck it” and let Padfoot come to you anyway. James was actually threatening to strap me to my bed (kinky bastard). I didn’t care how angry it would make you, I just wanted to be there. We all did._

_You’re so damn stubborn, Remus. That’s your problem. (And you can keep all your snarky “pot, kettle” comments to yourself, thank you very much). I meant what I said before, you’re not alone in this. Not anymore. Thought we made that pretty clear, what with the whole ‘let’s spend actual years trying to become illegal Animagi’ thing, but I guess you’re a lot thicker than you look._

_Merlin, I’m pants at writing. Believe it or not, this was supposed to be words of comfort. Figured a letter was an acceptable loophole, me being there without actually being there. Or maybe it was a dumb idea. I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to feel like I was doing something. _

_Soppy as it is, I would do anything for you. Stupid scratch on my arm or not, the risks are mine to take, and I want to take them because I care about you. And sometimes, I feel like you don’t really believe that. Like you think you don’t deserve people who care about you, or that no one ever truly could because of what happens to you once a month. And I say that’s absolute fucking rubbish, which leads me to this next bit…_

_I fancy you._

_There, I said it. If you’re reading these words now, it means you haven’t lit this on fire in disgust or anything, so that’s a good sign. It’s true, though. I fancy you. Have for quite a while actually. And I’m not saying that because I’m expecting anything. To tell you the truth, up until about an hour ago, I planned on taking it to my very repressed grave. But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted you to know that you’re worth taking risks for, that you’re worth caring about. And if I can help make you believe that, just a little, then mission accomplished. _

_We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. Merlin knows I would have never been able to say all this to your face. You can throw this away and never think about it again. Like I said, I’m not expecting anything. I just wanted you to know._

_Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to try and ignore the urge to chuck this letter in the bloody bin. Feel better soon._

_Yours,_

_Padfoot_

No matter how many times Remus looks at the paper in front of him, the words remain the same. _I fancy you._

Remus flops back onto the bed as dramatically as his broken ribs will allow, sending up a cloud of dust. His heart beats erratically as his eyes trace random patterns on the ceiling, his foggy brain still trying to work everything out, to make sense of the seemingly impossible.

Remus had always considered he and Sirius as an unfortunate set of parallel lines, close but never able to intersect. Now, one page of slightly untidy scrawl has simultaneously contradicted that theory and torn down every single defensive wall he’s been steadily building for sheer self-preservation. He’s ecstatic, he’s vulnerable, he’s terrified.

And it’s thrilling.

Despite the aching pains and the complete exhaustion, Remus is smiling when Madam Pomfrey shows up a few minutes later. Seeing his expression, she’s understandably worried.

“Are you alright, dear?”

Remus attempts to regain composure, knowing how mad he must look. He sits up and has the wherewithal to hide the letter in the pocket of his robes. “More or less.”

“Right, up you go then, you know the drill,” she replies, conjuring the familiar stretcher. Remus sighs at the sight.

“I really don’t need—“

“When they give you the uniform, you can decide what you need. Now _up,_ Mr. Lupin,” Madam Pomfrey replies shortly, but not unkindly. Remus decides it really isn’t worth the fight and does what he’s told, figuring he wouldn’t mind a ride back to the castle at this point.

Remus is soon settled in the hospital wing, having just choked down the last of Madam Pomfrey’s various concoctions that tasted even worse than they smelled. His pain dulls and a warm, cozy feeling overtakes him, sleep threatening to sweep the legs out from underneath his consciousness. With one last check of Remus’ injuries, Madam Pomfrey bids him a goodnight—Remus being the only unlucky patient currently in the wing.

The second she’s out of the room, Remus is already reaching over to dig Sirius’ letter out from where it lies hidden in the depths of his pocket. He scans it once more, reverent fingertips tracing some of the words, hardly daring to believe he hadn’t just been imagining it.

“Not exactly Shakespeare, is it?”

Remus lets out an indignant squawk as Sirius appears out of nowhere, pulling off the invisibility cloak with a dramatic flourish. Out of instinct, Remus goes to hide the letter, before remembering just what exactly is in it. And who exactly it was that sent it. He stares at Sirius, who moves to stand at his bedside.

The dull golden light of the early morning sun steadily creeps its way into the room, illuminating Sirius in a warm glow that softens the boy’s sharp edges. This image is aided by Sirius’ sleep-rumpled state, or perhaps more accurately, _lack_ of sleep. His hair is tousled in a way that suggests restless tossing and turning, a hypothesis backed up by the dark circles under his bleary eyes. He wears a plain black t-shirt coupled with a pair of red and gold tartan pajama bottoms that are slightly too long in the leg, so that he’s treading on them as he shuffles his feet awkwardly.

It’s then Remus realizes that their silence has stretched on a few beats too long and he wants to rectify this, he does, but he can’t find the words. He wants to express how Sirius’ letter changed everything, how reading those words made him feel happier than he can ever remember being, how seeing him now makes his heart want to burst out of his chest. But in all his arsenal of eloquent articulation and his pretentiously large vocabulary, he cannot find the words. There’s too much to say and too much feeling to adequately vocalize. Trying overwhelms him, and the English language suddenly seems far too limited, so he abandons the notion entirely.

He smiles, lifts up a corner of the covers, and slides over to make room.

Even with written confirmation that this obvious invitation very likely won’t be rejected, Remus is terrified, hardly daring to breathe as he eagerly awaits Sirius’ reaction.

Sirius’ eyes flit to the bed and back to Remus’ face, his eyebrows raised. Remus breathes a sigh of relief as the surprised expression fades into an uncharacteristically shy smile. The sight of it knocks any lingering air out of Remus’ battered lungs, a situation not made any better when Sirius happily accepts his invitation, sliding in beside him.

There’s not much room on the narrow hospital bed, and the two boys turn on their sides automatically, facing each other. Their eyes meet and Remus drinks in the sight hungrily, as if he’s never gotten the chance to really _look_ at Sirius before. And maybe he hasn’t, maybe he’s been so caught up in averting gazes and avoiding lingering stares for fear of being found out, that he’s never fully seen the boy now mere inches away from his face.

He’s making up for lost time, and from the looks of things, Sirius is doing the same.

Sirius adjusts his position a little, and the movement causes some of his hair to fall into his face. Before he’s even made the conscious decision to do so, Remus’ hand is already reaching out and gently brushing the wayward strands aside. Sirius’ mouth opens slightly in a surprised ‘o’.

“Hi,” Remus whispers at last, hoping his voice doesn’t shatter this delicate bubble they’ve found themselves in.

“Hi,” Sirius whispers back.

“So, I read your letter.”

“I figured, seeing as how you’re still holding it and all.”

Sirius smirks and Remus rolls his eyes, quickly placing the letter carefully beneath his pillow. The awkward tension that had previously filled their shared space dissipates almost entirely. Remus realizes that, in essence, nothing important has changed. Sirius is still his infuriating self and Remus is still in a near constant long-suffering state.

“Did it… did it help?” Sirius suddenly asks.

Remus nods, wincing slightly at the dull pain that flares in his head. He still manages a smile, though. “It did. Quite a bit, actually.”

“Right. Good. That’s… good.”

Remus makes a small humming noise in agreement, shuffling just a little bit closer, their legs brushing together. “Did you really mean it? James didn’t put you up to it or anything?”

“Of course not! It’s—This isn’t some prank to me, Remus,” Sirius says with a frown, sounding rather hurt. A part of Remus feels guilty for even asking, knowing that Sirius would never be that purposely cruel, but the sincerity he hears in Sirius’ voice helps in assuaging any lingering doubts Remus is still harboring.

“Sorry, I’m just trying to cover all my bases here,” Remus explains quietly.

There’s a heavy pause before Sirius tentatively reaches between them and places a hand over Remus’. “Is it really so hard to believe?”

Remus huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, kind of. I mean… it’s _you._ Sirius Black: heartthrob of Hogwarts. You could have anyone you want.”

“But I don’t want just anyone. I want you.”

Remus is just about to ask why when Sirius leans forward and kisses him.

Remus stiffens, shock momentarily overwhelming him, before he relaxes and begins to respond in kind, moving his lips languidly against Sirius’. It’s soft. It’s inexperienced. It’s perfect.

When Sirius pulls away, Remus mouth is moving before he can stop it, saying the first thing that pops into his head. “I didn’t think you liked blokes.”

He wants the ground to swallow him whole at such a stupid comment, but if all it takes is a little embarrassment to make Sirius’ eyes light up with mirth as he laughs, like he is now, Remus figures it would be worth it every time.

“Well, it’d be a shame to exclude a whole gender from my irresistible charms. Just call it… sharing the wealth, I s’pose.”

Remus raises his eyes to the ceiling, as if asking the powers that be to give him the strength to deal with this wonderfully insufferable boy.

Sirius rolls onto his back then, putting out his arm in invitation, teasing smile still wide. Remus nestles into the proffered embrace gratefully as exhaustion sweeps over him anew. He pillows his head on Sirius’ chest and closes his eyes, breathing in the pleasant earthy scent of the other boy.

“You’re an idiot,” Remus says simply.

Sirius wraps an arm around his shoulders, thumb absently rubbing the skin there. “You know you love me.”

“Yeah,” Remus sighs wistfully. It takes him precisely one second to realize with horror what he’d just let slip. He sits up a little and turns to look at Sirius, panicked, but Sirius just looks fondly amused.

“Don’t worry, me too,” Sirius whispers.

Remus beams and cranes his head to land one last peck on Sirius’ waiting lips before settling back down again. “’Night, Pads.”

“Sweet dreams, Moony.”

It takes Remus no time at all to fall asleep, utterly content lying in the comforting warmth of strong arms, and ultimately lulled into unconsciousness by the steady beating of Sirius’ heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! Reviews are my lifeblood :D


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